“Nor Mr. Wilton?”
“Nor Mr. Wilton.”
“There you’re wrong. I could tell you a trifle about a forged deed, as would uncurl your ’air, and make it quiver like that of a ’lectrified cat, if I liked.”
“Pshaw! What could you tell me?”
All! What? That question restored Mr. Chewkle to his equilibrium, which Nathan Gomer’s taunts were fast pulling him out of. He bit his lips, and mentally called himself a fool of great magnitude for having permitted himself to be so far drawn out. So, to prevent further trips of speech, he rose up, and prepared to go.
“If you will not give me anything down, Mr. Gomer,” he said, “the thing’s off. I shan’t come agen. It won’t be worth my while.”
“Perhaps you would like to go to Mr. Wilton and see him. You can ask him if he will put down the large sum you ask upon the mere faith of your promise to produce the man of whom you have spoken. The proposition is so very reasonable.”
Chewkle thought for a moment; then he fixed his eyes upon the face of Nathan inquiringly, and said—“What then is your idea of that matter, to be fair between man and man?”
“My proposition is this;” replied Gomer, “I have no objection to give you a sovereign now, and to meet you to-morrow morning at nine, and then either give you a further sum and enter into an agreement with you, or tell you that I intend to take no further steps in the affair.”
Chewkle reflected for an instant. He should be sure of a pound at least, perhaps he might get more; the offer appeared, also, too reasonable, if he wished it to be thought he intended to act honestly, to refuse; so he intimated his readiness to consent to it, and Nathan gave to him a sovereign, saying to him—